


For Beginners

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Batcave Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:28:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>enochian, batcave fluff, and some schmoop. ♥</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Beginners

“ _In I Iad, In I Ia-Idon_ ”

“Ineeah – innie iaddon?”

Castiel smiled pityingly at him; Dean let his head drop onto the table. “Not quite.” The angel said, smiling all the while, and Dean folded his arms, and rested his head on them.

“What did I say?”

“Not a lot.” Castiel shrugged. “It’s mostly your pronunciation.”

Dean scowled. “Okay, fine. What did  _you_ say?”

“ _Mine is god, Mine is all powerful._ ” The Headquarters’ dining-room echoed with his voice.

Dean pulled a face. “When the hell would I use  _that?”_

Castiel shrugged, puzzled. “Well, what do  _you_  want to learn?”

“I don’t know. Conversational Enochian. Hello, goodbye, where’s the john – you know.”

Castiel looked amused. “Conversational Enochian doesn’t really exist, Dean. The English language is obsessed with wordplay – in Enochian, there’s not even such a thing as euphemism.”

Dean drummed his fingers on the table. “Huh.” He frowned. “Weird.”

The angel threaded his fingers together in his lap and looked at him sideways. “Do you still want me to teach you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we might as well try.”

* * *

Dean is no great shakes at this ‘another language’ thing, and he knows it. Latin came to him from a very young age; it’s familiar to him as his Dad’s handwriting in the journal; something he can slip into with ease, though his knowledge of it is perfunctory, at best. But he wanted to learn Castiel’s language for more reasons than signs and sigils, curses and spells – wanted its harsh syllables, like Castiel’s deep voice, to be his.

He can’t get it. The angel laughs at his pronunciation; in bed that night Dean falls asleep to Castiel murmuring, “ _Brgdo, in monons. Brgdo.”_ He knows  _monons;_ heart. Knows,  _in;_ mine. He doesn’t know the rest, but the words – however guttural and strange to his ears – are beautiful somehow, are part of Castiel in a way he understands only distantly; part of some richness that Dean can never know, some other culture that is part of Castiel and nothing of Dean. That belongs to his brothers and sisters, to the strange places Castiel has lived, the things he’s seen.

In the darkness he seems so  _old;_ so much more than his slim, pale body, pressed against Dean’s side, warm and snoring, loud, in his ear. He smiles to himself.

All day Castiel tried to teach him – tried the old words, the things he’d find useful to know. God, and Glory; swords of fire and lights of heaven and choruses of joy and creation.

But this, here, is more than that. More than those huge, all-encompassing words, and Dean, he realises, doesn’t really need enochian to say what he  _means_ without pretension.

“Cas.” He nudges him gently, and the angel, blearily, blinks at him.

“Mm?” he murmurs. Dean shuffles closer; Cas’ legs are tangled with his, his hands between them. He kisses him, gently. “Dean, I’m tired.” Castiel murmurs, and Dean laughs.

“No, not that, just-“ He breathes out. It suddenly seems so  _huge._ “You know I love you, right, Cas? You know that?” It comes out so quiet that he’s not sure Castiel has heard.

But the angel smiles, and ducks his head, and leans his forehead against Dean’s. “Yes. I know.” He says, and closes his eyes. “I knew.”

“Good.” Relief soars through him, whites out almost everything else. “Great.” He says, again. The angel laughs, gently.

“ _Brgdo,_ Dean. Sleep.” He says, affectionate and chiding.

Dean does. 


End file.
